


Glub For Me

by chimericalEscapist (Adasser)



Series: Self-Loathing Chronicles [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Minor Gillplay, Porn, Xeno, dumbass bubbly soundin fishnoises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adasser/pseuds/chimericalEscapist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>aka "dave does some weird shit to eridan's face and then they have sex"</p>
<p>He treats sex like his favourite religion; he’s so fucking pretentious it almost makes you sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glub For Me

Eridan’s got this face, a real aristocratic looking face, with a narrow nose and high cheekbones and two of the fullest lips you’ve ever seen.  They’re probably your favourite parts of him, actually, except maybe his gills.

He catches you staring and the curl of his lips before he snarls a “w-what” at you is way more exciting than it should be.

It hits you without warning that he’s a _fish troll._

“Fish lips,” you mutter.  You’re not really sure if you’re talking to yourself or answering his question.  He scrunches his face, but before he can recoil, you’ve got a thumb on one of his cheeks and a middle finger on the other, and you squeeze his lips into a fish face.

“W-what the fuck—” His brow furrows and he looks like he wants to be angry with you, but the room isn’t dim enough to hide the purple creeping into his complexion.

You lick your lips and smile.  “Glub for me.”

It was supposed to be a joke.  You’re not prepared when his gills flare and he closes his eyes and gives the sweetest little damn glub you’ve ever heard.

It’s simultaneously fucking ridiculous and cute as shit, and you love him for it.

You kiss his stupidly beautiful lips, and he wraps one hand around your elbow, tugging you closer.  Your hand slides from his cheeks to rest against his ribcage as he pulls you on top of him.  He’s soft and careful pulling your shirt off, lays it to the side and kisses you reverently.  He treats sex like his favourite religion; he’s so fucking pretentious it almost makes you sick.

Your teeth scrape his bottom lip and he gasps softly, just enough to make you feel breathless.  You draw your hands under his shirt and lift it up over his head.  You’re less careful, tossing it off the bed, but you capture his lips again before he can voice the complaint you see forming on his tongue.

He melts beneath you, fingers curling lightly at your sides.  He actually tries to follow you when you pull away, but you drop your mouth to his jaw and he relents.  You press against him and he tilts his head to the side, letting you press your lips to his open gills.  His fins flutter, lightly at first, then in jerks, as you press wet kisses against the slits, as you drag your tongue just between them.

You only stop when his body shakes in a silent sob, the stimulation becoming too much. 

When you press your lips to his again, Eridan arches against you and tucks his fingers into the waistband of your pants.  He doesn’t do anything else, just anchors himself, and you grant him a slow, firm roll of your hips.  You can feel him pulsing against you, desperation already building.

(You swear that he wants you more every time.)

He frowns when you pull away to pull off his pants.  They end up crumpled on top of his shirt, and you take a moment to revel in the beauty that is a naked Eridan; you don’t often get the chance, after all.

He’s firm, with slightly rougher skin, and right now he’s flushed aubergine in patches where his skin is pulled taut. There’s a thick seam of grey-white scar tissue that goes all the way around his middle, and you can tell from the way he fidgets that he’s fighting not to cover it up. You think it’s beautiful.

He bends his knees.  You take the invitation, pressing two fingertips against the cool, slick skin just outside his opening.  His bulge brushes the back of your wrist, but he reaches down and holds it away; it slays you how much he wants you.  He chitters and shakes, and you slide them in gently.

The noise of relief he makes should be illegal, because you’re pretty sure you’d kill a man to hear it again.

He rocks down on your fingers more than you actually move.  You like watching him take control, the way the muscles in his thighs bunch and pull, the tightness in his abdomen.  You press your free hand just above his pelvis, rooting his hips to the mattress, and slide your fingers against the spot that makes him quake. 

You hear an Alternian version of your name sounding in his throat on repeat. You lean up and kiss him again, a little too deeply this time, and his teeth nick your mouth. You don’t complain, though, because he soothes the tiny cuts with his lips and tongue until they stop bleeding.  It’s sloppy, though, and you can feel from the muscles tensing beneath your forearm that he’s starting to get close. 

Although he whines when you slide out, he doesn’t stop kissing you silly.  You hover into place, hands on his hips, while he crosses his legs behind you.

He mutters something against your lips in Alternian that you’re pretty sure would make the filthiest whore blush.

You have no idea what you did to deserve being granted this piece of work, but you’d do it a thousand times again.

His head falls back against the mattress as you sink into him like a dirge, just the way he likes.  It feels like an hour before you’re all the way in, and he’s cool and tight around you, pulsing gently.  His bulge slides between your stomachs as it seeks friction; Eridan’s working his way to tears beneath you.

You lean down and smother his face with kisses while he shudders.  He rocks his hips, slow and fluid into you, through you. 

After you’ve worked him up, he’s getting close again, every muscle tightening in anticipation.  He squeezes you tight, slick and wet and cool around you, breath stuttering against your face.

The image of him coming undone by the force of his orgasm alone should be considered the highest form of art.  The rapture on his face, the dry sobs that heave his shoulders, the violet blazing beneath his skin; he’s so beautiful when he’s unguarded that you think it’s lucky no one else has to see him like this.

He more or less floods the bed.  It’s still kind of gross to you, but you like how boneless it leaves him afterwards. 

He’s still out of it when you pull free of him and release on his stomach. 

You flop next to him, nuzzling against his cheek while you both catch your breath. 

“Fuck, I think I’m goin’ to be glubbin’ for you more often.”

You kiss your smile into his skin.  “Slow down there, Free Willy, I’m not a one-glub prostitute.”

“Twwo glubs?”

It’s the cheekiest fucking thing he’s ever said, and the novelty of it startles a laugh out of you that you can barely stop before it progresses to a full-on fit.

You swear again that one day he will be the death of you.


End file.
